17 comments:

I wrote the world's most exquisite comment, never to be rivaled in the history of commentary, and...Blogger ate it! I will attempt to recreate here, but of course the subtleties and nuances of the original are lost to the mists of wherever Blogger puts those lost comments.

I always knew there was no Santa Claus (or, as we called him, Father Christmas). I don't know how I knew, my parents always tried to sustain the magic, but I knew. However, I was never one of those awful kids who break the bubbles of the believers. I never told siblings, cousins, or classmates that Father Christmas didn't exist.

On the opposite end of the spectrum, one of my daughters still believed in Santa until she was almost in her teens. One day, her teacher made an offhand comment, "It's like when you're young and believe in Santa Claus...." Julia was heartbroken (and I'm sure her teacher was thinking, "Really? This kid still believes in Santa Claus?").

I always knew there was no Santa Claus (or, as we called him, Father Christmas). I don't know how I knew that--certainly, my parents always tried to sustain the idea, but I knew. But I never popped anyone else's bubble: I never told any of my cousins or schoolmates what I knew...and I was always grateful for the gifts under the tree.

The opposite side of the coin is one of my daughters who still believed in Santa almost to her teen years. One day, one of her teachers was talking about something to the class and made the offhand comment, "It's like when you were young and believed in Santa Claus..." Julia was heartbroken (and I'm sure her teacher was thinking, what? This kid still believes in Santa?).

Well, we never celebrated Christmas (naturally) so it never came up that I can remember. But I don't approve of bratty kids going around telling others that Santa isn't real. There are few enough illusions in this world (unless you are a member of the Republican Presidential field and/or a Fox News true believer).

OMG! Do you mean there is NO Santa Claus? There goes my Christmas. It's shot to hell. Thanks a lot!

But, seriously folks, I think I gave up on SC at about eight years old (i.e., all those Santas in the stores (Gimbel's, Kaufmann's, Horne's, G. C. Murphy, etc.) finally began to be clues for my somewhat fanciful mind).

I'm reminded of a great crime novel featuring Santa Claus in an embarrassing (dead) condition: Voices by Arnaldur Indridason. Merry Christmas to everyone from Tim at Crime Classics (a new blog with humble goals, an open door, and a passion for crime/detective/mystery fiction).

Both my parents had very traumatic revelations about this when they were kids, so they never really instilled true belief in us. Nevertheless, my mother still felt she had to sit down and spell it out when we were older, which was slightly embarrassing as we'd known for years.

I knew from earliest memory that the presents came from people (Mom and Dad, aunt and uncle) and that Santa was just a "character" representing the non-religious side of Christmas. So the whole Santa, elevens, North Pole was an enjoyable fiction and I loved it, but I don't think I ever believed, so there was nothing to reveal.

About Me

Patricia Abbott is the author of more than 125 stories that have appeared online, in print journals and in various anthologies. She is the author of two print novels CONCRETE ANGEL (2015) and SHOT IN DETROIT (2016)(Polis Books). CONCRETE ANGEL was nominated for an Anthony and Macavity Award in 2016. SHOT IN DETROIT was nominated for an Edgar Award and an Anthony Award in 2017. A collection of her stories I BRING SORROW AND OTHER STORIES OF TRANSGRESSION will appear in 2018.